


Brilliant

by Planty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, secondary character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:53:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Planty/pseuds/Planty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheriff Stilinski loves his son.</p><p>He loves his son more than he'd ever loved anything. More than he loves his job. More than he loves himself.</p><p>But sometimes he could kill him.</p><p>Or maybe he'll just settle for killing Stiles' twenty-something boyfriend. Either way, there would probably be a lot more killing than is advisable for a man of the law.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brilliant

“Craig.”

“No.”

“Phillip?”

“He’s not a Phillip.”

“Rufus?”

“He’s not a _dog.”_

 “No,” Alice gently rocked the squirming bundle in her arms, “he’s our perfect, but _nameless,_ baby.”

John grazed a knuckle over his tiny sons forehead, hardly daring to do anything more. The little guy just looked so breakable and fragileand they were responsible for this little bundle of actual living person for the next 18 years – beyond that, even.

“Do we have to think of a name now? You should really go back to sleep, you look exhausted.”  

Alice sighed and shifted, “but he’s been ‘Baby Boy Stilinski’ for three hours now, he needs a name.”

“We should’ve decided on this before he fell out of you.”

“’Fell out’ _?_ You seriously think he ‘fell out’?”

“Let me check the label on this thing, see if there’s a clue there.”

Cheerfully ignoring Alice’s exasperated hiss of ‘he doesn’t _have_ a label’, John peeked at his son, “no name, it just says _Made in China,_ ” he paused. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, sweetheart.”

Alice closed her eyes, a wearily amused smile easing itself onto her lips, “if he has your sense of humour then I’m in for a rough life.” she muttered.

“You’re in for a _hilarious_ life. When we’re old and wrinkled, you’ll be laughing through your false teeth as me and him continue to amuse you with our Father-Son antics.”

“He’s going to be a Daddy’s Boy then?”

“Oh no, he’s going to be his own person.”

Alice planted a gentle kiss to the baby’s creased forehead, “he’s going to be brilliant.”

“Like you.”

A bird trilled outside. Dawn had approached, and yet John didn’t even realised night had fallen. Safe to say, he’d been a little preoccupied as of late.

“Rupert,” Alice said suddenly.

"Sorry?"

“When I lived in England, there was a children’s cartoon called Rupert the Bear,” she began to hum softly, “ _Rupert, Rupert the bear, everyone sing his name.”_

 Realising that a choice had already been made – and theme tune had apparently been assigned - John settled himself tentatively on the edge of the bed.

“Hey Rupert,” he said, feeling his throat constrict as a tiny hand wormed its way out of the shawl and clung to him, “it’s good to finally see you.”

* * *

 Rupert’s first words were ‘Mom’, ‘ _Duh!’_ and ‘Buhlans’, a garble which Alice firmly believed meant ‘Brilliant’, but John kind of had the feeling the kid was just attempting to talk so much that really, everything sounded like a word in the end. 

* * *

When school started, the nicknames also started. Classics included Rupervert, Rupefart, Loopy-Rupey and most despised of them all, Poopert.

Rupert didn’t like his name. Full stop. He hated variations of it moreso, even the gentler and less brutal shortenings suggested by his mother were swiftly swept under the rug.

Things were started to look pretty bad – Rupert researching the possibility of changing his name by deed poll to ‘Captain Awesome’ type bad – but things took a slight turn on his 8th birthday.

It had started when the wrong cake had been delivered, the decoration _not_ a dinosaur themed sugar extravaganza Rupert had been so desperate to have, but a rather subdued vanilla sponge with ‘Happy 80th Birthday, Stiles’ neatly piped on.

Oddly enough, Rupert had loved it.

“Stiles is a very strange name,” Alice commented, slicing the cake with a slight air of defeat. She’d tried to make it more kid oriented, but there were only so many gallons of frosting you could smother onto a cake before it turned into a legitimate diabetes risk. John shrugged and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Must be a nickname.”

Having spent the entire afternoon watching his mom transform the cake into a sugary delight, Rupert poked his finger into the icing and smiled appreciatively.

“It’s a good one.”

“I’m glad. Sorry it isn’t the one you want - ”

“Cake is cake and always awesome,” Rupert said wisely, “but the nickname is better.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Short for Stilinski.”

Alice chuckled softly, “I suppose it is.”

And so, in a gesture from some sort of baked goods deity, Rupert became Stiles. 

* * *

 Stiles was a noisy kid. Hyperactive, bouncing from activity to activity, providing everything and anything with a running commentary which soon tapered off into a rambled tangle of words which still seemed to hold some brilliant, if inane, meaning.

But then Alice died.

No. Alice _faded._ Alice wasted for years, growing weaker and weaker, smiles becoming more forced and finally, after a slowly fraying string of promises to get better, she left them. And Stiles stopped being bouncy and became jumpy. He stopped keeping a running commentary and started spitting out whatever words he could muster to fill the empty void of silence. They stopped being brilliant, they became  _annoying._

John screamed that at him once.  _Annoying brat,_ he'd hissed at the skinny kid before him, without holding back, furious at his own grief. Furious at his wife. Furious at the kid that just  _wouldn't shut up._ _  
_

Stiles was a good kid and deserved more than dead mom and a father determined to drink his way back to her.

* * *

John Stilinski loves his son.

He loves his son more than he'd ever loved anything. More than he loves his job. More than he loves  _himself._

But sometimes he could kill him.

Or maybe he'll just settle for killing Stiles' twenty-something boyfriend. Either way, there would probably be a lot more killing than is advisable for a man of the law. But it would probably be worth it in the end. 

“So.”

Stiles busied himself finishing the dinner, obviously attempting to ignore the impending confrontation.  It was kind of a pointless effort considering he’s just dropped a pretty impressive bombshell - even by his own standards.

“You and Derek Hale. Together.”

Stiles crunched pepper into the sauce, trying to maintain a vague sense of innocence, “yep.”

He really should have guessed something was up when Stiles had offered to make dinner _and_ do the dishes afterwards. No seventeen year old was _that_ helpful around the house without some ulterior motive.

“For how long?”

“8 months.”

Long enough for it to become something serious then.

“And when you’ve been staying over at the McCalls … ”

Stiles flushed and nodded, scruffing hand at the back of his neck, “he’d never make me do anything I didn’t want to. There’s no, like, problem there.”

“Apart from the fact you’re _seventeen_ ,” Stiles winced and John stole a slice of garlic bread. “I take it he’s joining us for dinner?”

Looking slightly confused at the change in tone, Stiles nodded and stirred the sauce.

“If that’s okay.”

“Of course it is. I’d love to have my teenage son’s twenty-something boyfriend in my house and eating my food. Maybe we can all reminisce about that little murder inquiry he was involved in? You know, afterwe’ve mentioned your age a couple hundred times.”

“Or maybe you could be remember how much you want to make me happy because I’m your kid, _ergo_ you won’t threaten to shoot the man I kinda sorta … love.”

Ah. Love. _There’s_ what John had been dreading. See, when Stiles fell, he fell hard – Lydia Martin being a shining, long lasting and eventually heart-breaking example – so the knowledge that Stiles was laying out everything (literally it seemed) was of absolutely no comfort. Stiles cleared his throat, steering the conversation out of less troubled waters.

“Derek’s bringing dessert. And wine.”

“Wine.” John repeated. Seriously, did Hale think he was coming to a dinner party? Did he expect hor d'oeuvres? Did he seriously think that the _Sheriff_ would be impressed at someone giving alcohol to his underage son?

“Because … ?”

Stiles shuffled, “it goes well with the pasta.”

“Yeah, and it’ll go nicely with his charge of statutory rape.”

_“Dad!”_

“What? I’ll arrest him after dessert.”

* * *

Stiles has dropped some bombshells in his time. Hale was a pretty good example, but there have been others that have really twisted John's mind.

But there was one that took the title of unrivalled, ultimate Stiles bombshell of all time. 

“Run that by me one more time.”

Stiles fidgeted and shuffled closer to Scott, who was meekly toying with his hands.

No, not hands.

_Claws._

“Which part?”

“Let’s start with that fact you’ve been running around with supernatural creatures of the night in your spare time for the past two years.”

“Dad - ”

“Or maybe we can backtrack to when you told me that said creatures _actually exist.”_

“It’s okay - ”

“Say, why don’t you just remind me of how many times being involved in this thing has nearly got you killed?”

“Operative word, ‘nearly’.”

“Not the time for jokes, Stiles.”

“It’s not a joke,” Stiles smiled softly. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

When it is revealed to you that you’re living in a town frequented by adolescent werewolves, bloodthirsty werelizards and the odd magical being, the temptation to have a drink or five is almost overwhelming. When it is revealed your teenage son is wedged comfortably in the middle of everything, the temptation is simply too much.

John poured himself a scotch and settled back on the couch.

“So,” he said, taking a deep gulp, “the animal maulings, mysterious deaths and disappearances are because of werewolves and it … _makes sense_.”

“Believe me, that part never stops being a total mindfuck.”

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

“You said ‘pack’,” John indicated at Hale, who’d been overseeing the little reveal with his hand tightly clasped around Stiles’ shoulder, “what does that mean?”

Hale fixed him with a deep stare, “we’re a pack, like a family unit. We rely on each other for strength and support and protect each other.”

“And is Stiles entitled to this ‘protection’ - ” oh god, who did they think they were, the wolfy mafia? Coming out every full moon to make you an offer you can't refuse? “ – even though he’s not in the pack?”

Hale had the nerve to look pissed at him,“he’s in the pack, he’s just not a wolf.”

“But is he _safe?”_

“’He’ is still in the room and ‘He’ has done a pretty good job of keeping himself and others alive for the past two years, and yeah, when I’m otherwise engaged, my furry pals do come to the rescue,” Stiles raked fingers through his hair. “I’m not gonna say I’m _safe,_ safe. I’m not the little piggy in the brick house, but I’m totally not the little piggy in the straw house, dad. There’s no Big Bad Wolf coming to blow me – _oh my god,_ I mean eat me. Kill me. Crap. It was a metaphor! You know, huff, puff blow your house down? - ”

Good god, Hale was _smirking._

“Basically I’m not in as much danger as you probably think I am. Please disregard all the innuendos - ”

“Preserve my quickly dwindling sanity and be quiet, kiddo.”

“Shutting up.”

John drained his drink and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“So why’d you wait two years to tell me this?”

* * *

"How did this even happen? Seriously, I'm pretty baffled."

Stiles cradled his sore hand and whimpered, "well," he gritted out. "I was putting on my shoes."

"And?"

"And then," he waved his hand emphatically and cringed in pain, "I tripped 'cause I had to stand on one leg and these shoes are crazy slippy which, hello? Not my fault. I totally wanted to go with a fancy dress theme but _noo,_ apparently that's not appropriate."

Stiles' finger, which had swelled to an impressive size, flexed meekly in its bandage. Stiles groaned.

"This is gonna make for a crappy photo."

"Hey, better than mine. At least you don't have a black eye and missing tooth."

Stiles halted suddenly and smile cracked along his face, "so I'm just carrying on the Stilinski tradition of looking like hell in the wedding photos?"

"You're bringing a lot of pride to the family name," John said, straightening Stiles' tie. "Though your Mom looked amazing."

There it was. The small downwards quirk in the corner of Stiles' mouth that appeared whenever Alice was mentioned. John understood that it hurt, hurt more than seemed posisble after so many years, but it was okay, because they had memories. Ridiculously happy ones at that.

"She would've been proud of you," John helped finish tying Stiles' cravat. "Laughing her ass off, but proud." 

 

* * *

 The ward had been quiet that evening.

“Hey Dad.”

And then Stiles had walked in.

“Hey there, Rupert.”

"You're not allowed to call me that."

“Oh yeah? I am your _father_ and you will listen to me when I – when I - ”

John was too tired to even finish his sentence. He cleared his throat and tried again. Tried for the last time.

“Stiles,”

Stiles looked up, grinning through watery, heavily lined eyes. You don’t really think about your kids turning 50. John never thought he’d see it.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for _being_ Stiles.”

Stiles laughed, “the cake told me to do it.”

John smiled and coughed again. Something seized in his chest and clenched at his throat.

“Thanks for being better than I deserved.”

He was pretty sure most of that was incoherently slurred, and a tremble in Stiles’ jaw was his confirmation. Inhaling a breath which was both shallow but seemed to fill him to the very core, John closed his eyes.

He couldn’t hear what Stiles was saying to him, but that was okay, because ‘the cake told me to do it’ was so, _so_ Stiles and really, that’s what he wanted to hear. He didn’t want an emotional goodbye. He didn’t need to be told he was loved.

He just needed to feel Stiles’ hand clinging onto him and to hear him, _his_ Stiles. Being brilliant.


End file.
